Brown eyes slowly tore themselves from the window, shifting once again to the television set. A blonde head shook slightly in disbelief, the young woman simply staring at the screen in silent shock.

“The estimated death toll continues to rise as crews shift though the remains of what once was Sector Seven,” the news anchor announced in a cool, collected tone.

“How can he be so indifferent?” the girl whispered, her voice a soft, sharp hiss. Her eyes fell shut for a moment, though they quickly opened once again as the images on the screen shifted, now portraying a battle set on a small platform, high above the Sector Seven Slums.

“Here we see what is believed to be a member of Shin-Ra’s Secret Police Force, attempting to single-handedly prevent the terrorist group known as AVALANCHE from destroying the support beam which held up the Sector Seven Plate.”

The suit-clad male on the screen appeared young, in his twenties at most. His hair appeared as a fiery shade of red, falling in messy locks about his face. That blue suit lay crumpled on his slim body, a rod of some sort his only means of fending off three terrorists set on destroying thousands of lives. An hour ago the citizens of Midgar had watched that battle in real time, via live feeds. They gasped in terror as that redhead, the one they believed to be their last line of defense, crumple to the metal floor of that small platform, defeated.

“We see here that a helicopter air-lifted this would-be hero away, while the crew of another helicopter tried to reason with the terrorists,” the news anchor announced, interpreting these strange events for the average public viewer.

“This can’t happen today,” the female whispered once more, her voice thin and frail as a piece of weathered paper.

Were it any other day, she could perhaps have grasped it. Were it storming, were there even a single cloud in the sky, perhaps she could believe all that was playing before her eyes; but not today. Not under such a clear, crystal blue sky.

“That man,” she murmured to herself, shifting closer to the screen as they, once again, showed the video of the redhead crumpling to the ground. After another moment of study, she rose Those brown eyes grew wide once again as her small, bare feet rushed across the soft, plush carpet to the dark-stained desk in the next room.

Small fingers reached into the top drawer to retrieve an envelope tucked in the back. Her heart hammered in her ears as she rushed to remove the folded paper from the envelope, wincing slightly as she ripped a corner of the document in her haste to unfold it. Her lips moved as her eyes sprinted over the letter, a look of disbelief once more settling on her young features.

She drew in a deep breath in an attempt to steady herself once more, her gaze moving toward the television again. Her tongue slipped out to wet her lower lip, voice once again soft and unsure as she whispered, “He was one of them.”

The room she found herself in was large, and for the most part, empty. A long table separated the brown-eyed woman from the other three occupants of the room. While she stood rigid before them, her short hair combed and in place, dark pants suit pressed and impeccably neat, the three males opposite her rested easily in chairs.

“I see,” the male seated in the center announced quietly. His dark eyes closed for a moment, his hands folding as the blue jewel in the center of his forehead caught the ligh. “And just what was it about the… ‘tragedy’ which made you reconsider joining the Turks?”

The male seated to his right, a tall, thick figure with a shaved head and dark glasses nodded, as if he wished to know the answer to that question, as well.

“Well, Sir, to be perfectly honest,” the female returned quickly, gaze shifting to the third male, a slim redhead wrapped in bandages and a crumpled suit, “It was him.”

“Me?” the redhead questioned quickly, one hand lifting to push some of that fire red hair from his eyes, brows lifting in clear disbelief.

“Yes,” the girl returned, a look of calm determination claiming her features. “I watched you fight so valiantly to try and prevent those people from doing so much damage. You tried so hard; it touched me. I decided then that I wanted to do something to help the world, to ensure that people like that AVALANCHE group are stopped. I want to be a part of Shin-Ra and what it stands for. I want to help them change the world.”

Silence lay heavily in the room as those convicted words passed the female’s lips. The three seated figures looked from one to the other, each passing a bewildered expression along to the next.

“You’re gonna have one hell of a time as a Turk,” the cocky tone of the redhead suddenly broke the still air. He, at least, had no doubt that she was just what Shin-Ra was looking for in an employee: An innocent, gullible, blind little sheep. “Welcome to the club, Elena,” he announced with a defined smirk.

The female’s brown eyes brightened upon hearing this, a smile upturning her lips as she gave a quick, crisp nod. “Thank you—thank you, Sirs. You won’t regret this! I will never let such a tragedy happen again!” she assured them in an almost breathless tone.

“Nope… you’ll never let it happen…” the redhead chuckled lowly to himself, rising with the other two as the group moved to exit the room and step out onto the busy streets of Midgar’s Upper Plate.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” the female questioned, head canting to one side.

Her question received no answer, only a secretive smirk from the red head as he glanced past her.